


Shelter

by subjunctive



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, baby's first m/m, lost in the wilderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Man, this is not even as bad as it could be."</p><p>A supersoldier, a regular soldier with a busted ankle and a bunch of unwanted feelings for his partner, and a brainwashed ex-HYDRA assassin all hide out in a forest in the Canadian wilderness. It's like the beginning of a joke. Only not, Sam thinks, a very funny one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jayjaybe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/gifts).



> I know nothing about the Canadian wilderness, which will become abundantly clear momentarily. Hope you enjoy anyway!

"Man, this is not even as bad as it could be."

Steve looked back at him with amusement. "How do you figure that?"

"Well, I could have been hurt worse. _Been_ hurt worse, matter of fact. Sprained ankle's not so bad, in the grand scheme of things."

"Guess not." Steve leaned against the cliff wall and looked out across the view. Bucky was still out there somewhere, and speaking of, he added, "Lucky he only got the wing."

"Yeah, and lucky I was only maybe twenty feet from the ground. And lucky I didn't drop like a rock, either." Sam paused to prop his leg up on his bag with a grunt. " _And_ lucky his aim was shit."

Despite the danger they were in, danger that was greatly exacerbated by Bucky himself, Steve still felt the need to defend him. "I don't think he was aiming for you. If he was, he would have hit you."

"Yeah, that's probably true," Sam sighed, leaning back against the stone and putting one arm behind his head. "Well? You gonna go looking for him? Now we know he's here somewhere?"

"And leave you to the bears?"

"I can build a fire," Sam said neutrally. "That'll keep the animals away." It was true enough. He didn't have any illusions about what was more important right now. Steve was a friend, and after a few months of working together he might even call Steve a _good_ friend, but if the call was between their first real confirmation of Bucky's presence nearby, and Sam's badly sprained but not fatal ankle, he knew the reasonable choice. If he were in Steve's place, and it was Riley out there, after three months of chasing a ghost, he might have even made the same choice himself.

And Sam could tell Steve was itching for it: the tense set to his shoulders, his gaze directed outwards, brow furrowed. He was thinking. For someone like Steve, it was a hard call, duty warring with desire.

But Steve shook his head. "I'm not leaving you holed up in some cave," he replied, like it was obvious.

"You are going to have to leave me behind sometime," he pointed out. It was only logical. "One way or another. It's not like I'm walking anywhere."

Steve licked his lips. "Yeah, I was thinking about that. How far back you think that town was?"

Sam took the distraction from from contemplating how much duty Steve felt for him. "Twenty miles, maybe twenty-five," he said after a few moments' consideration. "We covered that ground pretty fast."

Steve flashed him a small, crooked smile. "Yeah, we make a good team."

Sam nodded, looking out to where the forest was fading fast into the twilight. "Feet on the ground, eyes in the air. That we do." It was good, he thought, being part of a team, a good team, with Captain America. With _Steve_. He ignored the stray thought that maybe he wanted to be something else, too, something more. They were a team. That was good enough for him.

"Well, if you're going to head back, it's going to be dark soon," Sam pointed out, looking outside. The sun was setting, and it was probably a beautiful sight over the horizon of the wilderness, but he didn't have a great view in his position. "I know you run fast, but . . ."

Steve chewed on that a little, eyes narrowing in thought. "And bring back, what, a copter in the middle of the night?" He seemed amused by this possibility. "Nah, I think I'll wait till morning. Unless," he added suggestively, turning to grin at Sam, "you think you can't survive?"

"What, one little night in a cave, in the Canadian wilderness far away from civilization, with a bunch of bears roaming around, hobbling on an injured ankle?" Sam adjusted his leg. "I got Captain America with me, don't I?"

He flashed Steve a smile that could almost be mistaken for flirty, if it hadn't been flashed by a guy who was personally determined to avoid flirting with Steve Rogers.

Steve stared at him for a moment, then cleared his throat and looked away. The flush on his cheeks could have been from the sunset outside, or the stress of their situation. "Speaking of bears. Maybe we should build a fire. We don't want anyone trying to set up shop in here with us."

"Are you telling me Captain America can't take down a bear? I'm so disappointed in you, man." Sighing theatrically, Sam straightened up and began rifling through the pack at his feet. "We don't have a hatchet, though. Sleeping bags either. Didn't plan for this to be an overnight trip."

"Sorry," Steve felt compelled to say.

Sam waved him away. "I'll do an inventory of what we brought with us while you're out."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Steve promised, dropping his pack next to Sam and clapping him on the shoulder.

Something in Sam's chest eased at hearing those words. It wasn't that he hadn't believed Steve earlier, when he had implied he wouldn't go looking for the Winter Soldier, but if there was one thing Sam knew about Steve, it was that he kept his word. He _would_ be back, firewood in hand, and if he met a bear on the way, Sam was more concerned for the bear than for Steve, truth be told.

Meanwhile, Sam had his self-appointed task to keep him busy. It wasn't exactly an arduous chore: between their two packs they had some energy bars (and Steve had a _lot_ for a one-day trip, causing Sam to wonder how much he had to eat to keep up that supersoldier body), water, a single blanket (and _that_ brought up thoughts Sam did not want to be thinking at that moment), a small lamp, matches, couple of knives, a compass, and other sundries. It wasn't a spectacular spread, but they weren't going to die. 

Although he had to put his weight on his ankle to do it, making him grit his teeth, Sam gathered some leaves and twigs from the forest line a few hundred yards away, keeping an eye out for wildlife - and the occasional brainwashed ex-HYDRA assassin - the whole time. He'd told Steve the truth, before - it _could_ have been worse, a lot worse. But that didn't mean their situation was a good one.

When Steve returned, it was with an armful of branches, some as thick around as his thigh, just as rain began spattering down lightly. Steve ducked inside and dropped the logs at Sam's feet.

"They're just a little damp," he said, wiping at his face. "Shouldn't be too much trouble for us." A raindrop he had missed slid slowly down his temple, and Sam's gut clenched. He looked down.

"Well, we got matches, and I got some leaves for kindling."

Steve glanced at him, then outside. "Shouldn't be putting weight on that ankle," he said, with a note of reproof in his voice. It might have been condescending, if it hadn't been for the smidgen of protectiveness that shone through. Like a captain for any of his soldiers.

"It's just a sprain," Sam reminded him, shifting to toss over the matches.

Steve fumbled with the first match a couple times, his look of concentration deepening. His fingers were wet, so he tried to wipe them on his uniform, but that was a non-starter too.

"Here, man." Leaning forward so that his shoulder was in Steve's space, Sam took the match and lit it in one clean stroke, and transferred the flame to the small pile of kindling. Steve blew on it gently and then sat back in satisfaction to watch as it sputtered to life. He didn't, Sam noticed, lean away from him, and Steve turned to smile at him, a real, genuine smile that seemed unburdened by the worries of the last few hours.

And if it had been awhile since someone had tried to pick him up, Sam could be forgiven for thinking that the glint in Steve's eye was a little something more.

Sam grinned back without thinking, bumping their shoulders together. Steve's smile was a private, secret kind of thing, and Sam recognized it as just for him - or thought he recognized it, he told himself. There was no way Steve meant it like that, but Sam let himself bask in the moment anyway. It was getting increasingly hard (ha, ha) to stop himself from thinking about this, he realized. The longer he was on the road with Steve, the worse it was gonna get. Another month or two and he'd be hopeless. Sam cleared his throat, watching the fires slow spread across the logs Steve had arranged.

"Look, if I didn't say it before," began Sam, feeling Steve turn at his side to look over, "I'm sorry. This is the closest we've been in months to your friend, and . . ." He made a helpless gesture that said: _nothing_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw stubbornness tilt Steve's mouth. "Nothing to be sorry for," Steve said firmly.

"Not _I'm sorry I did something wrong_ ," Sam corrected, a little impatiently. "I'm sorry this situation sucks. And you don't have to look out for my feelings like that."

"Right." Steve sounded slightly abashed. "Well, it doesn't suck _so_ bad," he offered, and there was the hint of that smile again.

"Glad to hear you say that," Sam said dryly. Leaning back, away from the warmth of the fire and of Steve, Sam braced himself on his hands. "Can I ask - it's fine if I can't - what are you going to do when we finally catch up to him?" The 'him' was left unsaid but understood: Sam didn't think he had the right to call the man Bucky, but neither did he think Steve would appreciate the impersonal moniker either. To Steve, though, he would always be Bucky.

He got all this thinking in while Steve, apparently, was caught in his own thoughts too. In the silence, the rain seemed much louder, echoing weakly throughout their little cave. Finally Steve seemed to slump forward, shoulders rounding as he pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. Sam got the feeling he was catching a glimpse of she Steve behind the mask. Not even the Captain America mask, no, Sam saw behind that on a daily basis, now; but the one even a layer below that: the determined soldier, the leader who knew what he was doing and where he was going.

"I don't know," Steve said finally, and even though he'd seen it coming the uncertainty in his voice was still surprising, dissonant with how he thought of Steve.

"The whole time we've been trying to track him, I only had one thought: Get to him. I didn't think too much about what came after. But today, when I finally have to face him, meeting him - I've got nothing. All I can think is, what if he doesn't remember? What if he never remembers?" Steve's voice was quiet, barely audible above the rain's gentle rhythm, which was tapering off. Before thinking better of it - all crazy ideas seemed less crazy in dark cozy spaces, he rationalized - Sam reached out to rub his back lightly. Steve sighed: whether it was in response to what he was doing, Sam couldn't tell.

"You don't want to hear all this," Steve muttered a few moments later. His body was rocking slowly, unconsciously, Sam thought, to Sam's movements. "Sorry."

"Got nothing to be sorry for," Sam responded, intentionally echoing Steve's earlier words. It earned him a half-hearted chuckle. For the moment, Sam left his hand where it was, let the warmth of Steve's skin under the fabric spread down to his fingertips and lull him.

"I get how important he is to you," said Sam into the quiet. "Someone from your home, maybe the last one." The muscles in Steve's back stretched just so as Steve nodded, looking low and weary. "Must be different. Hard." They hadn't talked about that part of it much; Sam guessed Steve didn't like talking about his own difficulties. Instead, he always looked forward to the next thing.

Steve turned to him a little, and Sam caught a glance of a smile turning up the corner of his mouth, secretive again. "Well, some things were hard then too. Like . . ." He paused, then soldiered on. "Like when you've been flirting with somebody, or trying to catch their eye. But you can't figure out what they're thinking."

"Uh, who you been flirting with this whole time?" asked Sam through his suddenly dry mouth.

"Not too many choices, are there?" A hint of self-deprecation had crept in to his voice.

"Uh," Sam said intelligently. His brain was having trouble catching up with the conversation.

Steve pulled away, just enough to let Sam's hand fall to the ground. He didn't look back. "Hope that didn't make things too awkward," Steve continued, his voice shifting from close and personal to the more distant, professional tones of an officer. Already Sam was missing the warmth and intimacy of their earlier conversation; instinctively trying to recover it, Sam reached out to touch Steve's elbow, fingers curving around the joint.

Sam finally found his voice, the seriousness of the moment and his own incredulity pushing him to make light of the situation. "You call that flirting?" 

Steve's head swung around, the beginning of an indignant frown gathering around his eyes. But even underneath that, Sam could see the tension in his shoulders easing, humor rising in his demeanor. "Are you insulting my _game_?" he asked, chin jutting out in mock defiance. 

"Was that your game?" Sam smirked. "I couldn't tell." 

Steve shot him a look both annoyed and fond. "It's been awhile since I had any practice." 

"No doubt, no doubt. You're rusty, that's all," Sam added for good effect. 

Steve gave a half-hearted snort and ducked his head, looking at the fire. 

Sam tugged on his elbow to make Steve turn toward him again. "Just so you don't get the wrong idea what I'm doing here," he said, and leaned forward to kiss Steve. 

It was a short kiss, light and gentle, but it seemed to stretch out for so long. Sam's hand shifted to cup the back of Steve's head, pulling him close and running through his hair, still damp from the rain. Steve made a surprised sound, almost a question, and Sam's tongue darted out to swipe across his lip, making the sound shift to a sigh. After a long moment, Sam pulled away, but he left his hand on Steve's neck, thumb brushing his earlobe. 

"Ah," Steve said, and Sam was pretty pleased to hear the note of breathlessness in his voice. _He_ did that. "You might need to run that right idea back by me again," he suggested, with the hint of a laugh shading his words. 

"Maybe another time," Sam said with a cautious smile. "Seems like things are kind of busy right now." 

Nodding, Steve's expression became graver. "Can't ask you to . . ." He trailed off, and Sam watched as he licked his lip. 

"Besides," Sam continued, "all this calms down, you still have to take me out to dinner." 

"Oh yeah?" There was a warm look in Steve's eye. 

"Oh yeah. Steak. Definitely steak." Sam stretched out, seeing Steve's eyes follow the line of his body. Warmth spread through his chest. "We got time, though."


End file.
